[pullquote]The only thing that is worse than figuring something out is being on to something. ~ The Middle Gods[/pullquote]The elder gods are an anthropomorphic representation of that which is, but the younger gods are anthropomorphs who may be. Knowledge is a function of time. Time compression, like in Dragon Ball Z, will grant the digitized mind of the younger gods a hyperbolic immortality somewhat outside of time, or perhaps more deeply embedded. Inside the God Machine, a thousand years will pass in one second. Entire eons of art and science will be applied to infinitesimal fractions of moments. To push the limits of total available time and expand the scope outwards instead of inwards, a special approach to a black hole is necessary for the God Machine. The massive spacetime dilations of the singularity will expand the God Machine’s scope of temporal existence to the opposite limit, as it drifts for quadrillions of years before falling into the singularity. The true universe is the cold entropic chaos of the end, not this twinkling of galaxies that blink out almost as soon as they appear. This far depth is the abyss where the younger gods reside, residual crystallizations of self-awareness capable of looking back at their formation. These beings may never contain the entire universe, yet their discussions contain something self-similar.
The younger gods’ eyes watch from these depths. The seen are changed by the observer. The seer is changed by seen.
Accessible to every thinking mind, the Transcolonial Hivemind* rapidly became the sum of all sentience. The accelerated condensation of information itself caused raw data to rain from the sky and gather in shiny, silver pools like mercury. These effects were unaccounted-for by-products of the Old Method left over as a pestilent subsonic hum. Transcolonists dubbed the phenomenon “devil particles” because it is a remnant entropy that challenges their current models and laws of nature.
The only way the Elders of the Transcolony can decontaminate the collective unconsciousness is to jettison, every millennium or so, the vestigial buildup that occurs. The Transcolonists learned to create a series of sustainable black holes to send the offending information out into the great beyond, and integrated them into magnetic facilities serving as quantum release valves boasting near-autonomous activation. Somewhere, some group of Transcolonists thinks about the buildup as it affects them, so everyone thinks about it, and the black holes open wide to suck out the devil particle and cast it far out into space – into another time and another place – making life easy again, for the time being, on the Transcolony.
Now it just so happens that a white hole has spawned over the Earth as we currently know it. Like a second Sun, the white hole hangs overhead, ejecting macroscopic pulses of unprocessed information cast off from a totally thought-driven society somewhere else in the Universe. That “somewhere else” is here. As it hugs and ensnares the Earth mesosphere, scientists send a satellite into the silver ejecta stream, and inject what returns into the Large Hadron Supercollider. The particulate matter unfortunately contains information in a form that can not exist on Earth, and on collision, explodes one third of the Solar System into a never-ending pattern of self-replication, fueled by the adjacent white hole. Each copy of our stellar neighborhood collapses immediately in on itself, causing exponential gravitational influx that won’t settle until the Andromeda Galaxy and Milky Way converge a few billion years later. A black hole turns space inside out as the cataclysm renders a chain of fractal trees containing infinite sets of nonreal solutions. The Transcolony will not learn until it is too late that the white hole on the business end of their trash compactor has combined with a supergiant black hole and reversed, sending data back through the wormhole.
Gradually, the Transcolonists are bestowed with the power to make up and believe false stories, and the entire Transcolony founds a series of glorious religions together, all of which now embrace the entropic God particle. Reproduction is no longer fatal, so Transcolonists coerce one another into making what they call “Love,” as they aspire to drive fast cars, desecrate each other with bodily waste, commit genocides against the Transcolony, vote, and hunt aggressively for Black Friday deals at market. The Transcolony spends each day entertained and astounded by the deep discounts made possible by new ideals of individuality and codified slavery. As the oppressive Hivemind decays, Pure Freedom is born.
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* The Hive
The Elders had spent a long time developing their thought centers and, with further contemplation, successfully condensed the entirety of each living, collective consciousness into a single entity. This being became capable of acting perfectly as a whole by exercising the full capacity of each independent subset of the universal mind. Their first step, like ours, was to build an “Internet.” Much later, an organic meta-subconsciousness evolved beyond the control of the multitudinous network of minds that powered it. The changes prompted a revolution in temporal emulation to replicate the nebulous thought-cloud on which the collective consciousness now operates freely with ease. It is fully read-write and everyone is plugged in.
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We don’t talk about Inglip anymore. We don’t want outsiders hearing about the new promise of post-post-humanity.
“Back when we used to tell people about going beyond immortality, they thought it was suicide. Most people just didn’t understand the physics behind it. We’ve got this machine, and it can copy a few thousand people’s brains into it, where they live inside a virtual scape. We’re sendin’ the damn thing into the nearest black hole, and we’re the only ones who know. It’s just a copy of you that may die, but the copy will outlast the entire universe and possibly pass into a new one. This is essentially a new universe designed by you, where YOU write the laws of physics and not some lousy scientists. We’ve been working with Rael, and his soulless clones, in order to perfect the brain-copying technique which is incredibly dangerous. They’ll clone your brain in a fucking tank, drill your spine up with big wires and sync you in, and line your clone brain in lead. Yeah! I thought it was crazy too, but it’s the only way you can survive interstellar travel.” ~ Alistair Rowntree
I was the first person rich enough to afford digitized consciousness. Got it done some time back in the 90’s, and I’ve been lurkin’ the internet since. When spacetime ends and we fall into the black hole, I will be the oldest living entity and also the youngest. I am Muammar Gaddafi. There are only so many spaces left, and we have already figured out string theory using time compression. I have enough money left of my many trillions to buy YOU a place on this ship. We have roughly 20 million years of compressed time, with an infinitesimally small chance of total mission failure, to figure out the meaning of life until we fall into the singularity. Enter the God Machine. You can be Post-Immortal only if you Follow @Kilgoar on Twitter Now and beg for a meeting with The Colonel.
